Green
by MadamMalfoy2
Summary: 3 January, 1998. Removed from school indefinitely and placed in his father's care, Draco Malfoy writes in his journal. He revisits early memories of fear, comfort and forbidden desire, a tragedy that hollowed his soul, and the color green.


A/N: Thanks to my beta, without whom this would have been an atrocity to read. Love ya Joy!

Disclaimer: I own nothing but the insanity in my own mind. Please don't sue me or my children shall have to be forced to spend their days as child laborers in a sweat shop to pay off my court fees.

**Green**

Last day of Christmas Break

3 January, 1998

If I were still at Hogwarts, I would be boarding the train tomorrow morning...

For some reason, one I have yet to figure out, the most prominent memories in my mind revolve around the color green.

My earliest memory is of mother's earrings. I remember I was two. There was a terrible storm, and I couldn't sleep. Father had left the room, apparently disgusted at my "weakness", but mother held me tightly. She didn't say a word to me, even back then, but I knew that she cared for me more than life itself. I remember snuggling into her neck, perched on the edge of sleep, when something caught my eye. Her emerald earrings flashed in the candlelight and I was mesmerized. I remember reaching my hand up tentatively to touch them, expecting my hand to be slapped away, but she just smiled and slipped one off to let me hold it.

Next memory, let's see. Ah, yes- I was seven and invincible, or so I thought. Greg, Vince and I were in the Black Woodsbehind the Manor, a place that had been off limits to me since I had been born. We had been "prowling for Mudbloods" for hours when we came across a small snake. It was bright green and it coiled immediately upon spotting us. Greg and Vince froze in their tracks, but I, being the "Future Master of the Manor" (as I called myself then) approached the snake, determined that if it lived on my land I could talk to it or charm it. I had been reading a book on the life of Salazar Slytherin that father had given me, and I had convinced myself that I could speak Parseltongue. How very wrong I was. I walked right up to the spitting creature and stared at it for a few moments before hissing out some form of utter nonsense that was decidedly not Parseltongue. The creature struck out quickly and caught me on the leg, causing me to shriek and crumple into a heap of agony on the ground. I had resigned myself to death, either from the venom of the snake (which turned out to be thoroughly nonpoisonous) or by the hands of my father, as my companions carried me back to the main house.

I had just turned eleven during my next memory. I was standing in Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasionswaiting to be fitted, when a small, dark haired boy with brilliant green eyes entered the shop dressed in sorely oversized Muggle attire. He was alone, so I decided to try and make conversation with him in my usual way (brag, brag, smirk, buff my nails and sigh). He didn't seem impressed and I was confused; how could he not find me charming? I was (am) Draco Malfoy, heir to the Malfoy fortune. How could he, this puny, disheveled boy, not find me charming? I asked him questions, trying to discover his identity, but all I got were "yes" and "no" answers. I finally got a more interesting response when I began talking about the half-breed. The other boy actually *liked* him, I couldn't believe it. We talked a bit more, or I did anyhow, and he left quickly.. I didn't give him much thought after that because mother and father had arrived and we made our way to Quality Quidditch Supplies**. **I was determined to get a racing broom.

A month went by fairly uneventfully, and on 1 September, Greg, Vince and I boarded the Hogwarts Express. We had just settled into our compartment when Parkinson came bursting in, shrieking that Harry Potter was aboard the train. I had to find him. This was the boy I was taught to hate my entire life, I had to see this figure of all things good and majestic. I nearly laughed aloud when I saw the skinny, dark haired, bespectacled boy I had spoken to a month before while being fitted for robes. This was the Wizarding World's hope against the Dark Lord? I stuck my hand out in friendship (as father told me to do) and Potter just stared at it before saying, "I can tell the wrong sort for myself, thanks." I had never been so embarrassed in my life. From that moment on, I decided to make Potter's life a living hell as best I could.

I was made seeker my second year, and I was thrilled. The summer after my first year, father had gotten me the best Quidditch tutor money could buy. I was determined to beat Potter at his own stinking game; I _had_ to become Slytherin seeker. Tryouts came and went, and I made the team. To celebrate, father bought the entire team new brooms. I rubbed mine in Potter's skinny face nicely and laughed at his disbelief. Second year was turning out to be great (I had thought back then anyway), what with the Chamber being opened and all that nonsense. I thought this would be my year to shine, until the first meeting of the dueling club. I used the spell Snape had taught me and just as he said, a snake came shooting out of the end of my wand. I was ecstatic...that is, until Potter began speaking to it. Potter could speak Parseltongue. My Parseltongue! The language I had tried to master for years, and Potter was doing it as if it were second nature to him. I loathed the boy.

Fifth year- fifteen years old and I finally did it. After nearly five years of hard work (well, hard work for some; being witty comes naturally to me), I managed to make Potter so angry with me that he got banned from Quidditch.. Gryffindor had won the match, as they _always_ had, and I couldn't take it anymore. I wanted Potter to know what it felt like to lose something, so I decided to try and make him lose his precious golden boy control, and I succeeded. I smirked triumphantly as he turned around, his eyes glinting with fury and something else (pain?). He let go of the flame headed Weasel he was holding and began to run, full force, straight at me. I watched him ball his fist that was still clutching the treasured snitch and I prepared for the blow, only the Weasel twin came as well, and I was outnumbered. I felt each punch, blow after blow, relishing my achievement, when Madam Hooch finally interfered and drug the bloody maniacs off me. Potter was enraged, and he cast a furious green glance over his shoulder at me before he disappeared from the pitch.

My nextand most prominent memory: Sixth year, sixteen years old,Slytherin dorm room, my bed. I opened my eyes slowly, my body exhausted and spent, and saw brilliant, and lust filled green staring up at me. His face was flushed; his perpetually messy hair was positively bedraggled. Neither of us spoke, we didn't need to. We weren't friends, despite the night's activities; there was nothing to be said. There were claw marks all over his body, but I didn't care. There would have been more if I hadn't begun to draw blood that stained my sheets. I wanted to get under his skin, in every sense of the word. I wanted to see what made his heart beat, his blood flow. I wanted to see what kept him waking up every morning, because Merlin knows it wasn't evident to anyone else. But I get ahead of myself...

When it all turned from hatred to curiosity and desire, I'm not exactly sure, but I believe it was somewhere after the altercation after the match during fifth year. After the incident on the pitch, I couldn't stop watching Potter. I became practically obsessed. My entire hospital wing stay consisted of telling my friends to bugger off, and thinking about Potter…Harry bloody Potter. I couldn't sleep without seeing his face screwed up in anger, couldn't think without hearing the harsh exhale of his breath as his fist connected with my body. I almost failed my charms O.W.L. from staring at the git, and I had to forcibly restrain myself from grabbing him in Professor Umbridge's office. He stood so close to me that I could see the beads of sweat forming on the back of his tanned neck just below the spot where his hair curled around the side, pointing toward his ear.

Fifth year ended and I went home to a briefly empty house. My mother was spending the summer with my grandmother in France, and my father was in Azkaban for a grand total of two weeks before returning (illegally) home. He showed me his Dark Mark and told me that I would be receiving mine soon. I was less than pleased at this revelation, to put it mildly. I flaunted my father's affiliations with the Dark Lord to my housemates, in order to retain a certain level of control over them, but in truth, I was appalled that my father would whore himself to someone else and do their bidding without question.

Sixth year came and I was back at school, willing myself to NOT. LOOK. AT. HARRY. POTTER. My plan took a crashing nose dive when I saw Potter at the welcoming feast. He seemed so different, so haunted. I knew what had happened to Black. His own cousin (my aunt) sent him to his death. Potter was still, no doubt, mourning the loss of the person I later found out was his godfather. I began watching him that day, if only to satisfy my morbid curiosity about what made my rival act the way he did. It was worse than I had imagined, Potter never did _anything_ but sulk. I tried everything I could to get a rise out of him, I even lowered myself to insulting his parents, but nothing worked, he wouldn't even meet my gaze. He would just stiffen momentarily and shuffle by, determinedly looking at the ground. One evening, after having spent the entire day trying to get Potter to pay attention to me, I finally snapped. I would not be ignored any longer. I waited until the Weasel and Mudblood had gone off, likely for a quick shag, and made my move. It was after Potions and Potter thought he was alone. I kept hidden in a niche until Potter let his guard down, then I pounced. I scared the hell out of him, and he showed it briefly, but the emotion left his face as quickly as it came.

"What do you want, Malfoy?" Potter asked me quietly, his voice holding none of the disdain it usually held when speaking to me.

I stared into his sullen green gaze and suddenly, something felt like it clicked. I shoved him back against the wall and pressed my lips roughly on his. This definitely got a rise out of him, in more ways than one. He made no attempt to struggle and when I finally pulled away from him, I was stunned to see what was in front of me. Potter was flushed and breathing rather heavily. His eyes were wide and brilliant as they searched my face for an answer he seemed to desperately need. I began to feel uncomfortable under his gaze.

"Potter, I..." I started but was interrupted soon after.

"No!" Potter yelled and his expression went from flushed to furious instantly. He took advantage of my confusion and whirled me around so quickly that I was now against the wall. "Don't say it Malfoy! Don't fucking say it! I'm sick of it; sick of all the bloody 'I'm Sorry's'! I don't want pity from anyone, especially you!" Potter snarled.

"I wasn't going to..." but I stopped when I noticed that Potter's gaze wasn't on my eyes, but my lips.

"I hate the sound of your voice," he said in little more than a whisper and took one long look at my lips before he began to ravish my mouth with his, hands frantically rubbing and groping...

Yes, I suppose that is where it all started.

When I think back to what followed that incident in the hall, all I can remember are flashes of that night. Mostly just contrasts, black against white, dark against light, and knowing exactly why he was there in my bed. He wanted to get lost, he wanted to be numb. He wanted to try and claw his way under my skin, to see if I hurt as he did, if he could cause me pain and make me feel the way he felt. He wanted to forget, and most of all, he wanted to know that I was still there. I think I became sort of a constant in Harry's life, albeit most likely not a pleasant one. But constancy is constancy, no matter the emotions involved.

So I let him. I let him come to me, night after night in his invisibility cloak, and I let him take me; however he wanted, whenever he wanted. Whether he wanted it rough and quick, top or bottom, or gentle and lingering, I let him. I'm not sure why I let him, but I did. I think in a way I used it as an escape myself. I didn't realize back then what I was trying to escape. If I would have, perhaps things would have been different...

Potter and I kept up our appearances during the day, although there was really nothing to keep up per say. We were still, for all intents and purposes, enemies. Although Potter moped around pretty regularly and we never got into fights anymore, we were still considered the rivals we always had been. No one knew that each night the boy who lived to be the savior of the world slept in the bed of the boy who everyone thought would be the damnation of a generation.

So it went. We spent our days ignoring one another, and our nights trying to rip past each others pain and cause fresh wounds that we could pour ourselves into. There were times when we did nothing but stare across the room at the wall past each other's head, times when we argued heatedly over Quidditch and how our own team was sure to win this year. Then there were times when we merely held each other, stroking hair and whispering words of comfort until we both fell asleep.

No one seemed to notice that anything was going on between the Gryffindor and I, which is exactly how we wanted it.. We didn't really know what we were doing, we just knew that it helped ease a little of the pain and loneliness. Of course Potter didn't know how I felt, about anything really. He didn't know how alone I felt, he didn't know that I didn't want to join my father, nor was I going to tell him. I knew what he would do if I did tell him, he would think it was because of him. As much as Harry liked to object to this, he really did think the world revolved around him.

Months passed and things continued on their current path, enemies by day, lovers by night. If you could really call it "loving" since we often ended up having to heal one another's wounds the next morning. Anyhow, we continued to live in a sort of fantasy world, we truly thought that no one would ever find out. And no one would have, had it not been for a careless mistake on my half. It was all my fault, if I hadn't been so stupid then...

It was this past summer break when it all began to unravel. I had spent the summer writing to Potter via an enchanted parchment we had made before school ended. He was now living with Professor Lupin in London. We had become something closer to friends than we had ever been. I felt like I could talk to Potter, tell him my secret fears and desires. He would never judge me, just send back patient replies; sometimes filled with advice, other times filled with his own fears and desires. Harry's darkness sometimes scared me, but I did not tell him this. I was positive it would have crushed him, although I am not sure why.

We had planned to meet in Diagon Alley a week before the new semester began. Potter and I spent the day wandering the streets, stopping in various shops and cafe's as we talked of our summer happenings. It was quite a nice time, really, to spend time with Potter without fighting (or shagging), just being there, together. The day passed quickly and it was time for us to part. Potter would be traveling by floo powder back to Grimmauld place, so we said our goodbye's after dinner and went our own way home.

I had settled in bed and began writing in my old journal (they took it away from me, as if I can't remember what happened without the aid of a journal) when father came bursting into my room, throwing my door open so fiercely that it lodged itself in the wall as it made contact. I was quite startled and forgot to magically lock my journal and cast the invisibility charm on it.

I didn't say anything as he strode quickly into my room and stood at the side of my bed, staring down at me as if I were some disobedient house elf.

"Is it true?" he said in a controlled tone. His eyes were practically bulging and he was wringing his hands together in a manner that led me to believe he was only doing it to stop himself from strangling me. I was too stunned to speak; my father had _never _acted this way to me before. I sat there staring at him, trying to cover the fact that my hands were trembling at the sight of his quiet rage.

"I said, IS IT TRUE?" my father's enraged voice rang throughout the room.

"Is...is what true, sir?" I asked tentatively, fighting the urge to cover my head and run.

"You know very well what I am talking about Draco, don't play stupid with me. Lord knows it isn't really an act with you after all. Is it true that you were with Harry Potter in Diagon Alley today?" he asked me with a sneer.

I knew I was caught, my father would never ask a question like that at random.

"I...well," I tried to think of some sort of reason why I would be meeting him there, but I couldn't. So I stopped and looked down at my bed. My eyes widened as I realized that my journal was lying open not 5 inches from where my father's hand was resting. I think we noticed it at the same time because just as I lunged for it, he picked it up in one graceful hand movement and began to snicker, which is something my father does not do often.

"Well, well, well, what do we have here?" He looked at my journal with a raised eyebrow and I began to panic.

"N-nothing, can I have it back?" I held out my hand hoping against hope that he would return it to me, although I knew he wouldn't.

"If it is nothing, then why are you so eager for me to give it back to you?" He opened the journal and began thumbing through the earlier entries. I relaxed a bit since there was nothing incriminating in the oldest entries. He skimmed through until nearly the end and closed it quickly. "If I were you son, I would place a locking charm on this if you really intend to keep your thoughts private. People could use them against you one day." And with an extremely bizarre look, he left my room. I let out a sigh of relief...I was so glad he hadn't read the last entries.

My father never mentioned Potter again after that and I returned to school a week later. I decided that it was simply too dangerous for both Potter and myself to carry on the way we had been. We were getting careless, and we certainly could not afford to get caught so I did the only thing I thought I could...I ignored him.

Saying that Potter was displeased with this new development would be an understatement. He was fairly angry that I was ignoring his letters, and it hurt me more than I cared to think about when he would cast those specific *looks* at me across the great hall. After about a week of silence he finally confronted me. It was during Care of Magical Creatures class. He started out trying to subtly get my attention; I pretended not to see his feeble attempts. Then he tried the, oh so discreet, throat clearing trick. His efforts became so desperate that the half-breed tried to send him to Madam Pomfrey for choking. He stopped immediately after that. Finally, after waving his hands like a lunatic didn't work, he (now this is right in the middle of class mind you) marched straight to me and stood directly in my face with his eyes narrowed.

"You can't ignore me forever, Malfoy," he said with his arms crossed like a child.

I smirked and replied plainly, "I can and I will, now go back to your little do-gooders Potty. You are infecting my air."

The look on his face was horrible. It was as if I had just told him that his mother was a whore, and his father was Voldemort's right hand man. I had hurt him, and hurt him badly too; It was written all over his face and in the depths of those emerald eyes. I wanted to hug him and tell him I was sorry, and that it was all my fault that my father found out, and that I was sorry for nearly putting him in danger...but I couldn't. That would have made things a million times worse for him. He stared at me for a fleeting moment and then he resumed his normal blank face. He said nothing as he retreated back to his side of the clearing.

People spoke of what happened that day, but no one ever mentioned it to me. For that I was eternally grateful. I knew they didn't do it out of kindness however, but I was glad all the same. I couldn't talk about Harry, it hurt to even think about him. The wound was still too new. I lay in bed at night missing him, missing his warmth, both physically and mentally. I missed my companion, the only person I could share a truly intellectual conversation with. I knew it was for his own good though, and I hoped dearly that he would just put it all behind him and forget we were ever anything more than enemies.

A few months passed and everything seemed to be back to normal. Potter was back being Potter, Malfoy was once again the old Malfoy, and everyone else adjusted accordingly. I had even received a few rather pleasant letters from father, mainly just asking about school and the like, although he did seem rather curious as to the upcoming events of the term. Things were relatively quiet...I should have realized...well, anyway.

Halloween arrived and we would be having a ball to celebrate the holiday since there hadn't been one in a few years, and the general student population was growing restless. (I say the general population meaning the general giggling female population.) I, of course, went with Pansy. Potter went with the little Weasel and the ever-snogging duo. Everything was going fine...ok, it wasn't going fine. I was going insane trying to keep my emotions in check. Every time little Weasel would lay her disgustingly destitute hand on Harry's shoulder I wanted to hex her and drag him to my bed. After catching his eye a few times, I decided that I had to get out for a bit of fresh air. I left Pansy in the care of Crabbe and Goyle, and headed out to the courtyard which was thankfully empty of snogging couples. I sat down on the bench to ponder my woes when I heard familiar footsteps behind me. I stood up immediately but did not turn around. I didn't need to.

"What do you want, Potter?" I asked in a slightly shaky voice.

"I want an explanation...Malfoy." His pain was evident in his voice, and it nearly made me cry. I could tell he was trying to be spiteful, but his heart wasn't in it.

"I can't give you one Harry, just please...know that I am doing this to protect you," I said and suddenly felt compelled to walk out of the courtyard toward the forbidden forest; I hoped he wouldn't follow. Something moving beyond the tree line made me stop, but before I could retreat back to the castlehe was there again.

"Protect me? Since when do I need a Malfoy to protect me?" Potter spat at me. I smiled to myself at the tone of his voice. It was the old tone, the tone that I had come to memorize after years of antagonistic confrontations. Apparently he thought I was laughing at him. "What is so funny? Did you have your fun with me and decide you were ready to move on, is that it? Did you want to be able to tell everyone you shagged the boy who lived? I'm sure that would make an amusing story at Death Eater meetings Malfoy, I suppose that was your plan all along wasn't it? God I am so blind..."

"Would you shut your bloody mouth for five seconds Potter until your minuscule mind can understand just what your mouth is saying? If I were a Death Eater, which I am most certainly not, do you really think the Dark Lord would be amused if I told him that this whole time I could have delivered you to him, but instead I was shagging you rotten? I don't think so; I would have likely been killed," I said. For some reason it was a struggle to say these things, somewhere in the back of my mind a little voice kept telling me to grab my wand.

Potter stood there staring at me. I couldn't tell what he was thinking, nor did I really care. I was undergoing some sort of inner struggle with myself at that moment. I could feel my hand grabbing at my wand although I was trying with all my might to stop it from happening. I vaguely heard Potter in the distance ask me what was wrong but I couldn't answer him.

Grab your wand, Draco. Curse him. You know you have always wanted to.

No! I used to want to but now I don't, and I don't understand what is going on so will you please get out of my bloody mind?!?!

Do it, Draco.

No!

I apparently lost that battle because the next thing I knew my wand was out of my pocket and pointed directly at Potter's chest. There was no fear in his eyes, only despair and betrayal.

"What are you doing?" he asked me in a quiet voice.

I opened my mouth to say 'I don't know...Help Me!!' but what almost came out made me close it immediately. He looked at me strangely as I continued to battle with myself.

Crucio!

No!

Crucio!!

No!!

Crucio!!!

"Crucio."

Horrible screaming filled the silence as he lay writhing in front of me. I couldn't do anything but watch; it was the worst feeling I had ever felt...

The shrieking stopped and he looked at me with alarmingly wide eyes as he gasped for breath. "Draco, why…?" A single tear rolled down his cheek.

Do it Draco...

Father?!?!

Do it!

No...Please father no!

Now Draco, before they find you!

I was so very dizzy and my body was working against me. I knew it was coming...I wasn't strong enough to stop it. I closed my eyes as the words escaped my mouth and when I opened my eyes, it was over. Everything was over. I had just sealed the fate of our world. Me! Fucking ME!

I collapsed on the ground next to him, placed my head on his chest and shed silent tears. It was only minutes before Professor Dumbledore was at our side. His eyes were wide with shock and grief. It was horrible knowing that I had been the cause of it all. Dumbledore signaled for the other teachers and when they tried to take Harry's body I clung to it as if my life depended on it. And in a way it did. Slowly students gathered around us; most of them in shock, several were crying. Granger pushed me aside and held Harry's head in her lap, smoothing his hair back as tears fell onto his glasses. Weasley punched me right in the jaw. I did nothing to stop him, I deserved it. Hell, I deserved that and so much more. I wanted to die. I hoped that Dumbledore would send for the Dementors to come and suck out my soul. But he didn't...nothing happened. They finally took Harry away, and the crowd of students slowly made their way back to the castle, clutching one another for support. I remained on the ground where I had fallen from Weasley's blow. I kept thinking that I would wake up soon, that it was all a dream. But it wasn't. After what seemed like hours Dumbledore was once again standing before me.

"Get up, Mr. Malfoy. We need to talk," he said and held out his hand for me. I stood and followed him blankly to the half breeds "hut" and took a seat at an enormous table. He set a cup of tea down in front of me and I stared at it...I stared at it the entire time he spoke. His words completely washed over me until he said..."We know it wasn't your fault."

I looked up at him. It was as if someone had stolen the ever present twinkle from his eyes, leaving two dull blue shells where the light had always been. "It is all my fault Professor, all my fault." I looked back down at my tea and closed my eyes.

"You were under Imperius, Draco."

"It doesn't matter what it was. I should have been strong enough to fight it. He...he shouldn't have paid the price for my weakness." Before he could reply I left...I walked out into the woods and lay on the ground with my eyes closed, hoping something would kill me. I deserved death, a horribly painful death. I longed for it, craved it...I still do.

They sent me home from school after that, home to my father. My father...that fucking bastard. I haven't seen him in over a month. He won't come near my room, and I refuse to leave it. I have tried to kill him several times since my first attempt the day I came home from school. I used floo powder to get into his study and dove at him. I had caught him off guard and managed to get my hands around his arrogant throat before he grabbed his wand and stunned me. I awoke the next morning tied to my bed but I didn't care...I hoped that they would leave me there to die. Of course they didn't though. My father came in a few hours later and told me that I had done our Lord a great favor, and that I should be rewarded. I told him the only reward I would ever want was his head on a platter. "Remember many months ago Draco, I told you that one day someone could use your thoughts against you? Those were your own thoughts that night, I just helped them surface." He laughed callously and left my room.

About a month later I found him in the dining room with my mother at dinner. I walked straight up to him and stuck my wand to his head. I said the words and nothing happened. I lowered my arm and stood there staring as he laughed at me once more. He told me that he placed a protection charm on my wand that would render it useless against him. I spat in his face and retreated to my room.

I sat there thinking for hours, trying to find a way to hurt him as he had hurt me...and that was exactly what I would do. I knew he loved me more than anything, even if he pretended that he didn't.

I stopped eating when they took my wand after a foiled attempt to Avada myself. I would have been successful had the blasted house elves not interfered.

I haven't eaten in almost three weeks, yet somehow I'm still alive. I think they are slipping me a potion at night that is keeping me alive. Why won't they let me die? Is this my reward for doing the Dark bastard's filthy deed? Is my eternal inner anguish my fucking reward? I killed him...I did it...I killed one of the only people who ever really fucking mattered to me, who ever took the time to see me for me, not just a fucking name! I loved him...

I have banished every green item I have ever owned from my room. I cannot bear to look at the color. It reminds me of summer nights on the Quidditch pitch, of the Slytherin common room, of eyes so brilliant they stole my breath, and of light so terrible it stole his forever.

Green man in the garden   
Staring from the tree,   
Why do you look so long and hard   
Through the pane at me? 

Your eyes are dark as holly   
Of sycamore your thorns,   
Your bones are made of elder branch,   
Your teeth are made of thorns. 

Your hat is made of ivy-leaf   
Of bark your dancing shoes,   
And evergreen and green and green   
Your jacket and shirt and trews. 

Leave your house and leave your land   
And throw away the key,   
And never look behind, he creaked   
And come and live with me. 

I bolted up the window,   
I bolted up the door,   
I drew the blind that I should find   
The green man never more. 

But when I softly turned the stair   
As I went up to bed,   
I saw the green man standing there.   
'Sleep well, my friend,' he said.


End file.
